


hunter and the hunted

by sonatine



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Pacific Rim AU, infinite timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 02:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12122142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatine/pseuds/sonatine
Summary: It was only superstition and stereotype that jaegers were named for their pilots, and vice versa.





	hunter and the hunted

**take one**

 

The Marshal was yelling. The Marshal was always yelling, but this time the newbies seemed to have really gotten his goat.

“The problem,” said Leroy, sidling up to Otabek, “is that when you throw a rook into a jaeger with a has-been: they fight like a rook thrown into a jaeger with a has-been.”

Otabek shook the rain off himself. The terrible weather was still blowing in the open cargo bay door. The shatterdome barely had enough personnel to defend; much less staff to keep things running smoothly.

“But then,” Leroy said, with the beginning of a sneer, “you know all about age creeping up on you.”

Otabek didn't even have to rise to the bait. Yuri was already by his side. Yuri had already tackled Leroy to the floor.

The upside was that he diverted the Marshal’s attention. Across the dome, Otabek saw Katsuki’s shoulders slump. Nikiforov, more hesitant than Otabek had ever seen him, pulled Katsuki in.

“For _God’s sake_ ,” Feltsman roared. He yanked Yuri off of Leroy. “Is there no end to the foolishness we have to endure today? Altin, it didn't occur to you to intervene?”

“You can't stop a hurricane,” Otabek said. “Only withstand it.”

Marshal Feltsman’s eyes went heavenward. “Saints preserve us,” he said, and assigned both Yuri and Leroy to helping Phichit receive in all the arriving jaegers. “ _And_ their pilots,” he added with a finger jab.

“Could use a bit more brains around here anyway,” Leroy said sourly. His pretty boy hair couldn't quite hide the black eye Yuri had just given him.

Yuri, for once in his life, didn't retort. He gave Otabek a look of blazing glory, and pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

“See you at home.”

* * *

Home, for them, for the last six years, had always been Cherno Alpha.

No matter which new base the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps ripped them out and dropped them into, or which shitty one-room apartment Russia’s defense program could afford to throw their way, home for them had always been the drift.

Otabek could swear belief in very few things. His parent’s religion; the ghost of his sister; and maybe the witching hour of crepuscule.

But even outside the drift, he could swear that Yuri had a direct line to his soul.

* * *

He felt Yuri walking down the hallway. The familiar indignation and rage rolled off in waves, until the toes of his boots kicked against the door. Yuri walked slightly duck footed.

The grinding of the circular door latch drowned out whomever Yuri’s shouting was directed.

Maybe someone else had called him a duck. Phichit last week had showed Otabek a photo of a fluffy yellow duckling. The shadows on its face made it appear to scowl. One only person hadn't paid dearly for laughing at the comparison. It wasn't Otabek.

Yuri stormed inside, lighting and thunder both, and slammed the door and his shoes behind him. Jacket and uniform followed, and he collapsed onto Otabek’s chest.

He was sweaty. His dog tags stuck to Otabek’s neck. Otabek breathed in the scent of his coconut shampoo and curled a hand through the base of Yuri’s hair.

He’d missed him.

“It was two hours,” Yuri mumbled into Otabek’s collarbone.

Normally they were in a jaeger ten hours a day. And then on top of each other in their leaky attic of a bunk. The Siberian coastline didn't offer much in terms of defense. They were it.

Otabek missed home.

Yuri huffed a laugh. “It looks exactly the same.”

Otabek waved a hand at the walls. “Ours had paisley wallpaper.”

“Ugly as fuck.”

“These are metal.”

“Still ugly as fuck. You should put your stuff up on them.”

They were never usually more than two feet away from each other, so Otabek was there to witness the spat between Yuri and Viktor. JJ had made himself uncharacteristically scarce. Maybe nearly watching Isabella get an arm torn off had shaken him.

“Hey _asshole_ ,” said Yuri, slamming Viktor against the wall. “I didn't say anything when you sweet-talked your uncle into letting you into a jaeger —” 

“Yes, you did.”

“Or when he let that rookie _crawl into a suit beside you —_ ”

“His name’s Yuuri,” Viktor supplied. “I know you remember it. It's the same as yours.”

Yuri’s wordless roar of rage was cut off when Otabek pulled him back. The other Yuuri pulled Viktor away too, quietly staring Yuri down.

“I don't care what your trauma is!” Yuri yelled, legs flailing as he tried to disengage from Otabek’s grasp. “I don't care about your sob story! Just don't put the _rest_ _of_ _us_ in danger because of your ego! You're selfish, Vitya. Don't be so fucking _selfish_.”

Viktor’s face was bleached bone.

* * *

Yuri didn't let go of Otabek that night, at all. The loss of the girls’ jaeger hit them all hard. But Mila and Yuri had been in basic together.

“It was only a scratch, Yura.”

Yuri looked pointedly at the blood seeping through the bandage.

“They're learning. You don't remember how we were at first?”

“Kick-ass.”

“You remember the bridge we tripped over? The fire we started on that island?”

“Kick-ass,” Yuri repeats, but rolls over on his back. “I forgot about that. The disorientation.”

To Otabek, it had felt like falling in a pool and realizing that this whole time you'd had gills and had been previously trying to breathe in oxygen.

“We had to learn to _walk._ ”

“Takes lefties longer to learn everything. Ow,” he said blandly as Yuri socked him in the stomach. Yuri’s fist changed shape, flat, and slid under Otabek’s shirt. It rested atop his heart.

Like Cherno Alpha, Yuri kept his heart behind iron. Only once you were invited close did it warm you: slowly, inexorably.

Yuri pulled Otabek close, slotting their mouths together. Otabek was willing to be burned.

* * *

It was a mission like any other. It always was. After any successful run, the slate was wiped clean. You didn't carry over good luck onto the next one.

The kaiju ripped out Cherno Alpha’s heart with green-tipped talons. Yuri screamed like it was his own. Otabek reached over, even as the water was flooding in, even as the electrical circuitry fizzled into the liquid mess, for Yuri’s hand.

 

**take two**

 

It was raining, of course, when Otabek climbed out of the chopper. Marshal Baranovskaya’s protégé was glaring green bottle glass at him, like Otabek was personally responsible for the inclement weather.

“I hope you haven't hung all your hopes on this American prick,” Plisetsky spat at the marshal in jagged Russian. Otabek gripped his umbrella tighter. Not out of anger. This was a wholly new and raw emotion.

“Not American,” Otabek said. He didn't try to disguise his accent.

Far from looking embarrassed, Plisetsky’s scowl deepened. He tossed his blonde hair and stalked away.

Despite a good ten-year tenure as a jaeger pilot, Otabek had never considered himself suicidal. He was the most consistent jockey in the force, the Marshal had told him. Maybe too much so. It wouldn't hurt to take a couple risks _sometimes_ , she had hinted. Otabek merely showed her his kill stats.

His methods worked. Level-headedness was the reason he was still around when the rest of the Russian force wasn't.

But he wanted those fangs to rip into him.

Plisetsky paused by the hangar door. He shouted back, “Are you coming or what?”

* * *

“Otabek! Beka, my man —”

Otabek side-stepped JJ’s enthusiasm. Undeterred, JJ pounded him on the back. “You made it! Good to see you again, it's been, what, five years?”

Otabek's heart clenched.

JJ didn't notice. He also didn't acknowledge Yuri. “Drop your things, an aide will take care of it.”

Otabek shouldered his pack tighter.

“Chris and Husband are already here! They're in the mess, c’mon, let's grab a table.”

“Thank you,” said Otabek, “I’ll join you later.”

He shook off Leroy’s grasp to dodge through the lanes of traffic bustling under the palatial dome. Yuri charged through at breakneck pace. He didn't check to see if Otabek was still following him.

“Altin,” said the Marshal’s husband, falling into step with him, “I’m glad you arrived safely.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Once Yuri shows you your room, I need you on mat for the candidate trials.”

Otabek cast a glance ahead. He'd almost lost sight of the blonde halo. “I've only just arrived —”

Yakov grunted. “And we’ve only got two days to prepare for the next kaiju attack. You're rusty. And you need a copilot. And you need them before tomorrow in order to train.”

“First thing in the morning,” Otabek promised, and jogged after Yuri.

Yuri never looked at Otabek directly in the eye. It was deliberate: they were the same height. Like a cat asserting its dominance. When he finally _deigned_ to acknowledge your presence, you’d know.

Otabek was used to it. Most people found it hard to look him in the eye; either from starstruck shyness or misplaced anger. He'd learned to tolerate their sliding gazes.

“My dad throw laurels at your feet?” said Yuri.

Otabek huffed a laugh. “The opposite.”

They left the central dome and its scurrying carts and personnel. The side hallways were mainly metal and rust, dimly lit. It reminded Otabek of the towering frames of wall he’d spent the last five years constructing. He breathed easier.

Yuri stopped in front of an unremarkable door. Otabek reached for the circular door level.

“I read about your sister,” Yuri said.

The metal twisted under Otabek’s hands.

“She was better than you.”

“She always was,” said Otabek.

He looked up. Yuri was staring straight at him. His eyes weren't pure blue, like Otabek previously thought. There were shards of green interspersed.

“You know, it's bullshit that siblings have a biological advantage to piloting,” Yuri said. “Anyone can drift. Siblings just have a leg up on bonding time.”

Otabek watched him. Yuri wasn't the only one who could play the waiting game. A muscle in Yuri’s cheek twitched. He held Otabek’s gaze steady.

“Is that why you’re not in a jaeger with Viktor?”

Yuri flinched, but took the hit. “My father made it clear: I'm too small. Too weak. Too delicate.”

“That's bullshit too. He's babying you.”

“Protecting me.”

“Holding you back. You should've have been training alongside Viktor. You're not a pilot. You're a soldier.” Otabek watched Yuri absorb the blow, then added, “Which means you'd probably be ten times more effective.”

“Effective like you?” Yuri said. “You let your sister die.”

There was a gaping silence.

Then: “ _I wish I had instead_.”

Yuri pitched forward and Otabek pitched back, as though they’d both been braced for it, but shaken all the same.

“If it had been you,” said Otabek, “you would've offered yourself up for Viktor. If given the chance.”

Yuri drew in a sharp breath.

Otabek felt like they'd just gone five rounds on the mats. He was breathing heavily, as if Yuri had slammed him to the floor. Perhaps he had.

“Get your game ready for trials in the morning,” Yuri finally said. “We’ve got to find you a copilot.”

Otabek watched him go.

_I think I already have._

 

  
**take three**

 

Otabek knew the pilot of Puma Tiger Scorpion was behind him. He could feel the rage shimmering off in waves.

Otabek let him wait another minute. He finished his task, shut the maintenance panel, and rose to his feet.

Plisetsky was taller. This was grating. But he was also slouching, which was interesting — like his spine had only recently been stretched, and he wasn't yet used to his new form.

“Can I help you?” Otabek asked, wiping the grease off his hands with a towel. Plisetsky’s eyes followed the movement avidly.

“I need a mechanic. There’s a glitch in the catch mechanism of my jaeger.”

“Okay. Did you report it?”

“Yes, but there’s a backlog.”

“There is,” said Otabek. “We’re short staffed. But we move down the list.”

“I'm not going out there to fight off the next fuckface,” said Plisetsky, “with a glitchy joint catch.”

“There's a week until the next appearance. I promise you we’ll get to your jaeger in time.”

“Bullshit,” Plisetsky spat. Otabek’s head shot up. “These things can show up whenever they want. You're deluding yourself if you think there's a _schedule._ ”

Otabek had just recently been arguing this over dinner. But he wasn't about to admit that now.

“Dr. Giacometti seems to know what he's talking about,” Otabek said. He turned and went back to work. “Bring it up with him.”

He told himself he wasn't listening for the sound of Plisetsky’s footsteps. But he noted the exact second they walked away. There had been a moment of staring, and indecision.

_“I will,”_ floated back, over the sound of steel-tipped boots. 

* * *

It was only superstition and stereotype that jaegers were named for their pilots, and vice versa. But Plisetsky was so prickly and cautious with affection that he might as well have been plucked from the very soul of his jaeger and deposited into a snarling blonde form.

Otabek lifted his head. He thought he'd heard a knock on his door; but it was that hazy middle ground between early morning and late night. The shatterdome was never completely quiet. But this slice of time came close.

He ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. Otabek wasn't a good liar. Lying was tiring. And he was exhausted enough already. So he couldn't lie to himself about who he wished was on the other side of the door. Knocking, to get his attention. Waiting, to see him. To talk.

Otabek didn't like talking either. But in his head he always talked to one person. Foolish, really. They didn't even know each other. The person in his head didn't truly exist.

Otabek felt that itch under his skin even before he was swinging his legs out of bed.

Sometimes he felt like he was just counting down the daylight hours until it was acceptable to get back in bed again. So he did what he knew was always available as a time occupier.

He went to work.

Puma Tiger Scorpion was technically a Mark V, but it was a compilation of three older, decimated by kaiju, jaegers. Hence the terrible, maudlin sentimental name.

Otabek loved it.

It had an exposed heart like he never would, and a hide of steel just like his own.

A scraping sound, boots against concrete. Otabek didn't have to look over to know who it was. “Don't feel like sleeping?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Plisetsky leant against the railing. Dangling from his harness, Otabek was lower than him for once. He tilted his head up.

Plisetsky was watching him with a look scientists gave to the one gene standing in the way of their hypothesis.

“You're not on shift.”

“How do you know? The schedule isn't public.”

“Phichit will tell me anything about his mechanics. For a fee.”

Otabek spun the wrench thoughtfully. “Puma Tiger was bumped up the worklist yesterday.”

Plisetsky’s gaze didn't shy away. “Told you.”

Otabek wasn't sure if he meant _told you it was serious_ or _told you I can get what I want._

They both might have been the same.

* * *

Phichit said, “Go find Plisetsky,” and Otabek said, “I'm not your errand boy,” and then Otabek was knocking on Yuri’s door. A debate with a Phichit was just postponing the inevitable.

There was a grumbling inside and then a yell: _“Just come in already!_ ”

Otabek pushed the door open. Yuri was sitting cross-legged in front of a mirror and surrounded by an array of beauty products. He twirled a mascara wand around his eyes.

Otabek shut the door firmly. “I know that if bread is rationed. Cosmetics surely are too.”

“I bribed Phichit.”

“To smuggle you makeup?”

“No, to tell me gossip.” He blinked impossibly long lashes at the look on Otabek’s face. Otabek swallowed. “Phichit just likes ripping off the black market.” Yuri shoved a mountain of makeup aside, a tide under his cot, and faced Otabek properly. “Did you come just to admire my face or something else?”

Otabek said, “Funny you should mention the black market.”

* * *

“Why wouldn't Phichit just go himself?”

“He said this was a special case.”

“But he's so good at haggling. He loves it. Like more than he should. It's disturbing.”

“He said it's a special case,” Otabek repeated, “that required your presence.”

“That's _even_ _more_ _disturbing_.”

* * *

The guard outside the intersection examined the special card and shuffled them inside. Yuri disdainfully eyed the gilded room and gem-studded shelves, though brightened at the appearance of a secret door.

A man with doe eyes and a shy smile approached them. “You're here for kaiju bone powder?”

“Why the fuck would I need that?” asked Yuri. 

The beautiful man shrugged. His eyes flicked over to Otabek’s face, and then ever so innocently down to Yuri’s belt.

Yuri flushed violently.

His tirade was interrupted by the appearance of a tall man with a grey silk suit and hair to match.

“Are you Eros?” Otabek asked, as instructed, and again flashed the secret card.

Yuri made a gurgling noise.

The grey man smiled. “No,” he said, sliding an arm around the beautiful man. “ _He's_ Eros.” He placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“Our business is only with Eros,” Otabek said.

“But I'm Agape,” said the grey man, and smiled wider at Otabek’s expression. This was the _big boss_ and they were _incredibly_ _fucked_ , because Yuri was currently spewing a tirade at him.

“ — the stupidest fucking names I've ever heard, as if anyone could take you and your pig seriously with some hackneyed gay Greek bullshit —”

“But Yura,” said Agape with wide eyes, “you are too.”

Otabek physically restrained Yuri, and prepared himself for death.

Eros laid a gentle hand on Otabek’s arm. “It's all right. They're brothers.” 

* * *

Yuri grudgingly acquired the kaiju samples Phichit wanted, refused a hug from Agape, shouted over his shoulder that if the lazy deadbeat wanted to visit sometime then he, Yuri, wouldn't be held accountable for beating him off, and hustled Otabek away.

The streets were mostly empty now. Curfew was deeply ingrained among coastal populations. Otabek still felt antsy, even when they weren't in the 24-hour danger zone.

“You remember when we were kids,” Yuri said suddenly, “and anyone could go out after dark? Just whenever they wanted?”

“Yeah,” said Otabek. “I grew up here, actually. Around the corner.”

Yuri shot him a look. He'd stuffed the packets full of illegal kaiju parts into his jacket. It made him look disproportionately soft.

“I did too.”

“Yeah, I —” Otabek hadn't planned on bringing this up ever, but, “You don't remember me. Your dad scouted among us local kids for a couple months, at first. For pilots. I was in one of the groups.”

Otabek didn't need to finish the rest. He obviously hadn't made the cut.

Yuri said, “I do remember you.”

That was even worse.

“You didn't fight like anyone else,” Yuri continued. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes on the ground.

Hong Kong at night, deserted, with the neon reflecting off empty buildings, was its own kind of middle ground. A purgatory, where things could be said that you wouldn't dare saying anywhere else.

Words shouted into a void don't stick.

“I’d never seen anyone fight like that,” said Yuri. “That's why my dad didn't choose you. He didn't know who to put with you in a jaeger.”

It was an old hurt, one Otabek liked to pretend he couldn't feel anymore. It wasn't fair for healed scars to still itch.

“I wish I'd been old enough to qualify then,” said Yuri, finally looking up at Otabek.

_So that you could have drifted with me?_

But enough had already been revealed. Yuri, despite living his life in the spotlight, was in many ways intensely private. Otabek knew he wouldn't get anything else out of him.

* * *

Giacometti was wrong.

It wasn't a double event. It was a tag-team.

Otabek had barely swung up into his harness onto Puma Tiger _._ Yuri was still loitering by the railing, hair damp with sweat. He was scowling at Yakov, who seemed to be saying something serious.

Phichit came barreling down from the control room. “ _Movement in the breach!”_ he shrieked, trailing papers behind him. “ _Category five!”_

Yuri whirled to stare at Mila.

Mila, arm freshly bandaged and shoulder recently un-dislocated, stared in horror back.

Yakov recovered first. “We can manage with only two jaegers. Mila, Yurochka, go to the command room. Consult over headset.”

Yuri’s eyes went to Otabek.

“No,” said Yakov.

“We’re dead in the water against a category five with only two,” said Yuri flatly.

“You're dead in the water anyway on a first run with a newbie pilot!”

Yuri was shaking his head. His hand was already tugging at Otabek’s.

“Launch the other two fighters!” he yelled at Phichit. “We’ll follow!” Dragging Otabek down the hall at full speed, he added, low with determination, “Once we find you a spare suit.”

Otabek felt it too. The thrill through his veins the minute Yuri’s skin made contact with his own. Like they were drifting already.


End file.
